


A Brief History of Evil

by jojowritesthings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Backstory, Blood, Explicit Language, Gen, Physical Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojowritesthings/pseuds/jojowritesthings
Summary: Anthology of moments from the past of one Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as You Know Who, He Who Must Not Be Named, The Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort... Take your pick. Each chapter is a defining moment from his life (and a few before his life) leading up to the events of the First Wizarding War.





	1. August 14, 1924

**Author's Note:**

> As the summary says, these moments only lead up to the events of the First Wizarding War, as Voldemort rose to power the first time. I might add more moments later to fill in gaps before his "death" and maybe even some Harry Potter-era moments. We'll see! Hope you like it!

_ “Damn girl! Where are you?! Get out here and clean up this blood! Yer brother’s killed another of them fuckin’ dogs! MORFIN! Get outta that damn tree an’ in the house right now!” _   
  
Merope Gaunt stared vacantly out the open window as she hummed to herself, coughing as dust blew in from outside and caught in her throat. She hacked and sputtered until she could hardly breathe, and wheezed as she leaned over the kitchen sink and spat a glob of grayish-yellow mucous into it. She was still wheezing horribly when her father burst through the front door, nearly knocking the piece of rough-hewn wood from its hinges again. No doubt he would ask her to fix it when it did fall off. Then he would yell at her and whip her for not doing it by magic.    
  
“What’re you starin’ at, you idiot girl?” Marvolo Gaunt grabbed his seventeen-year-old daughter roughly by the arm and jerked her to face him, nearly ripping her shoulder out of socket. She didn’t even wince. “DID YOU HEAR A WORD I SAID, YOU FILTHY LITTLE SQUIB?! GET OUTSIDE AND CLEAN THAT SHIT UP!”   
  
He practically threw her outside, where she stumbled into the front yard and then fell into the dirt. It hardly mattered. Her dress was already torn and soiled beyond repair and her hair was matted and dull as usual. Merope was used to it. She really didn’t even think of it anymore. She hadn’t in years. What did it matter, if the only people she ever saw were her father and brother, and the occasional passer-by who made the mistake of knocking on their door. Merope knew that nobody really cared about her or wanted her, but she had nowhere else to go, so she stayed with her family. She wasn’t smart enough to leave them.   
  
“YOU FORGOT THIS!”   
  
The wand came hurling out the kitchen window and nearly impaled Merope in the eye when she looked up. It clattered to the hard earth beside her and she looked at it for a long moment before she gingerly picked it up. Then she stood shakily, and limped off to the tiny, overgrown garden beside the shack of a house. The carcass of a large dog was lying there, flies buzzing around it while it reeked of rotted meat. Maggots had already inhabited its flesh and seemed quite comfortable there. Merope didn’t even hold her nose. She was used to the smell of death. Morfin killed things a lot. She knelt down and grabbed the dead animal by its hind legs, moving to drag it out of the garden and into the woods where she would bury it. It left a trail of congealed blood and filth as she dragged it across the dirt.   
  
“When I give you a wand I expect you to use it, you little bitch,” Marvolo sneered from around the corner of the shack, where he was leaned dangerously against the unstable structure. He glared at his daughter with eyes as cold as steel and with a wild sort of look to them. Morfin peeked out from the window to watch the beating he was sure would soon occur.    
  
Merope looked down at the rotting German Shepherd again and then up at her father. She picked at her pale lips for a second, leaving a bit of the dog’s blackish blood smeared there. She raised the wand timidly, and pointed it at the carcass. “Mmm…” she whispered something, barely making a sound at all. Nothing happened, except that a fly landed on her cheek and perched there as she tried to make the words come out.   
  
“Never mind, you stupid Squib,” her father spat as he came toward her. He grabbed the wand from her hand and promptly smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. She toppled to the ground and began to wheeze sharply again. Fresh blood seeped from her lip and mingled with that of the dog. Marvolo stared down at her with disgust. “Shoulda known you couldn’t do it. Just get that thing out of here.” He disappeared back around the house, and Morfin’s head ducked out of sight.   
  
As Merope emerged from the woods hours later, filthier than before after digging the dog’s grave and burying it, she was going to go inside when she heard the sound of hoof beats not far off. Her face lit up, if that could ever be said about the girl’s pale, ghost-like and sickly visage. But she knew what that sound meant, who that horse would be carrying by her little shack. She ran to the hedges at the perimeter of the garden and pushed herself onto her toes to peer through the frazzled tops of them. It was him. Tom Riddle. The man she was in love with. He lived with his parents over in Little Hangleton, in a great big house up on the hill at the other side of town. Almost every day he would ride by here on his strong black horse, on his way to other villages to grand parties or something like that, she thought.    
  
One day she would be his. She would ride with him to parties and they would be wealthy and happy together forever. He didn’t know it yet, but he would love her, too. 


	2. February 27, 1925

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merope Gaunt gets everything she ever wanted.

_They were gone. They were gone for good, to Azkaban, and she was finally alone. She would be free to do as she wished. No more hitting. No more yelling._  
  
Merope smiled pleasantly to herself as she cooked some eggs for her breakfast, using the stove like a Muggle. As they sizzled in front of her, she reminisced about the day just three short weeks ago when that man from the Ministry of Magic had visited and then taken her family away. Her father and brother were bad people. Morfin had cursed Tom, and that meant he needed to be punished. They both did. And she was glad they were gone.  
  
She raised her wand for the first time ever without feeling afraid that she might end up cowering in the corner, bruised and bleeding. Then she moved to the side of the kitchen/living room area and knelt down beside the empty fireplace. Staring into the grate at the pile of soot that had been in the cracks of the floor for years, Merope pointed her wand at the space, and cleared her throat.   
  
“Incendio?” she said timidly, just a little louder than a whisper. Her throat hurt. She had hardly spoken for as long as she could remember. Nothing happened, but she thought she saw a little bit of goldish spark from the tip of the wand. She tried again, clearing her aching throat first and taking a deep breath. _”Incendio.”_ There it was. A small jet of golden flames shot from the tip of the wand and into the grate, where they landed and danced around like nymphs in the dark woods. The light cast lovely glowing shadows across Merope’s face as she smiled to herself. _I am a witch._   
  
After that, it was easy to do magic. There were a few worn out, moldy books hiding in the depths of her father’s things, and she dragged them out and studied them. She cast simple spells about the shack, making it look a little nicer but honestly not caring about it that much. She cleaned herself up some, too. But that was all just part of her bigger plan. The book she was really most interested was the one about potions. There were all sorts in there: healing draughts, sleeping tonics, poisons… and love potions. This is the thing that caught her eye more than anything else about magic. She studied those few pages madly over the next few days and finally procured all the ingredients she needed, even though she had to steal some from the village shops.   
  
The hoof beats came just as they always did, but this time Merope was not peeking out through the hedges like a little girl. She came out from the shack, her dress semi-clean, her hair almost neat as she carried a tray and a pitcher of iced cider out towards the road. Just as the large black steed came trotting by, Merope walked into its path and caused it to stop quite abruptly, its passenger nearly being jolted to the ground. Merope just stared for a minute. He was so handsome. His long dark hair, perfect jaw and strong shoulders made her go absolutely weak in the knees. He was too perfect, it seemed. And he would soon be hers. She gulped as she looked up at his confused expression.   
  
“I’m sorry- I didn’t see you,” Tom said, still eyeing her curiously. She had, after all, run out in front of his horse. Was this girl really as stupid as everyone in the village seemed to claim she was? She certainly seemed a little slow-witted. “You should be more careful, you know.”   
  
Merope merely nodded. She was a little shocked. His voice was just as lovely as she’d always imagined, and he was speaking to _her_. She swallowed and held up the tray for him to see. “Would… Would you like some tea?” She asked, unable to get a grip on herself. This was bad. What was she thinking, doing this to this man? He didn’t deserve it, and did she really want him to love her like this? Yes, actually. She wanted him to love her, no matter how it happened. “It’s hot out.” She whispered, blinking up at Tom with wide grey eyes.   
  
He looked at her for a moment, alabaster brow furrowed. Then he seemed to smile, though it was perhaps a bit forced. But really, she was right. It was hot out, and what harm could one glass of cider do? He dismounted from his horse and nodded at Merope as she handed him the glass. “Thank you.” 


	3. March 15, 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merope Gaunt learns that love is a fickle mistress once the potion wears off.

_ ”Tom? I want to tell you something.” _   
  
Tom Riddle rolled over in the full-size bed, ignoring the crick in his back from the spring of the mattress as he always did. What use was it to complain about an old rusty piece of metal anyway? Besides, he had everything he needed right in front of him. His wife was the only thing that mattered, and everything else in the world seemed obsolete. It didn’t matter that they were dirt poor or that he didn’t have a job because she hated being away from him for long periods of time. It didn’t even matter that they were technically squatters in the run down old apartment building where they lived. Tom was just glad to have Merope, and he knew that as long as she was there everything would be perfect.    
  
Or, so he thought as he stared lovingly into the eyes of his wife. He stroked a lock of hair from her pale cheek and asked what was the matter.    
  
“Nothing is the matter, Tom,” Merope replied, though her eyes deceived her. Tom could tell when she was worried or anxious about something, and he could see that clearly something was bothering her. He would find out whatever it was and make sure the problem vanished before his darling wife became even a smidgeon more unhappy. “It’s good news, actually.” She glanced down at the thinning sheets and picked at a hole near her pillow. Then she looked up at her handsome husband and managed a weak smile. “We’re having a baby.”    
  
The smile on Tom’s face couldn’t have been wider, and Merope was glad that he seemed to be excited about the prospect of having a child. He kissed her and they lay in one another’s arms for the remainder of the night. But ecstatic as Tom was, the nagging feeling the back of Merope’s mind told her that it could all just be a lie. She was still giving Tom love potion daily, and how could she ever really be sure his joy was genuine? She thought that he loved her for real, though. After a year of marriage, he had gotten to know who she was. He knew that she was a witch, and he still told her he loved her. You couldn’t fake something like that. And now that they were having a baby, he would love her even more. Right?    
  
So the next time, when Tom got up and she made him breakfast on the cracked old stove in the apartment, Merope made a pot of coffee as per usual, but this time she left out her little ‘secret ingredient.’ Tom smiled as she handed him the steaming mug and paused to grab her hand before she walked away, pulling her back and placing a kiss on her cheek. “I love you,” he said. Merope grinned and kissed him back, having no idea that this would be the last time those words came from her dearest Tom’s perfect lips.    
  
All day long she watched him carefully, noting every little change in his attitude, his habits, his facial expressions. Nothing seemed to be any different, and Merope was overjoyed as they lay down to go to sleep. She didn’t even mind the fleas biting at her exposed ankles as she snuggled up to her husband and closed her eyes. Everything was going to be alright.    
  
“WHAT THE HELL?”    
  
The cry of outrage woke Merope with a start, and she nearly fell from the bed into the floor as she scrambled to get up. She was confused, and disoriented, and took a moment to gain her bearings as the morning sunlight streamed through the tattered curtains and blinded her. “T-Tom?” she stuttered, feeling her breath hitch as she finally focused on her husband’s frightened face. His dark eyes were staring at her with utmost confusion and worst of all, disgust. It was a look Merope had seen plenty of times before, on the gruff face of her father.    
  
She fell to the dusty floor and began to weep while the love of her life ran from the apartment, leaving her behind forever.    



	4. December 31, 1926

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unto the world, a child is born...

_ "Oh, my goodness! Mrs. Cole please, come quickly! I think she’s going to have the baby!” _   
  
“Oh, poor dear. She hardly looks healthy enough to have the child,” Mrs. Cole said quietly to Maria, her colleague at the dingy London orphanage. “Go and get some water, and hurry.”    
  
There was no time to call a doctor. This woman had stumbled onto their doorstep less than a half hour ago, starving and ill, nearly faint from fever as she begged them to let her come inside. They had no idea who she was or where she’d come from, but she was not the first of her kind to ask their assistance. The young woman was lying on a cot in the room they normally used for the children to play in. There had been no way of getting her upstairs with the amount of pain she seemed to be enduring. Her shrieks echoed throughout the building and the surrounding streets. Many of the children had already woken up crying and frightened from the noise.    
  
“Go upstairs, Lucinda,” Mrs. Cole spat at a young girl who had just peeped around the doorway. Her eyes widened and began to water, but she left quickly. Mrs. Cole felt sorry for being so harsh, but this was not something a child needed to see. It was obvious that the young woman moaning before her on the cot had very little chance of survival. Mrs. Cole did not wish to think about the dangers this was causing the baby as well, which was good because she had very little time to think. The woman let out a horrible banshee-like wail and Mrs. Cole knew it was time for the infant to arrive.    
  
It was a bloody and horrible scene. Mrs. Cole and two of the others who worked at the orphanage did their best to keep the young woman calm through the birthing process, but there was little they could do to help her. She sweated and screamed, her ghostly pale and hollowed faced turning red with the stress and pain. Several times she gave up pushing and screaming altogether, and Mrs. Cole thought she had died right there on the cot, but it was not the case.    
  
When the baby finally arrived, some eight midnights before midnight on New Year’s Eve, his mother was shaking and weak, looking worse than ever. She vomited twice into the floor beside the cot, while her baby boy shrieked as Maria cleaned him and wrapped him up in an old blanket. She carried the fussy infant over to the side of the cot, presenting him to his mother for the first and last time.    
  
“It’s a boy.”   
  
Merope gazed at her son, and tried to feel that instant joy and love that a mother is supposed to feel when she looks at her newborn for the first time. But it was hard. She was already in such despair, her body was sick and aching in ways she never thought possible, and all she could think of was the fact that this baby would be raised without a father to love and protect him.    
  
“Tom,” she moaned, both in longing for her husband and in stating the child’s name. She coughed violently and lay back on the cot, gazing blankly up at Mrs. Cole. “Name him Tom, for his father. And… Marvolo. For my father.” She turned her gaze on the squirming, raw-looking infant again and tried to inhale deeply, but shuddered. “Tom Marvolo Riddle. I hope he looks like his papa…”    
  
Then the young woman’s eyelids closed partially as her final breath wheezed through her chest, and she was gone. 


	5. May 9, 1932

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Tom Riddle doesn't play well with others.

_ “NO! You give me back my slingshot, Robert Crandall, or you’ll be sorry!” _   
  
“No, Tom! You’ll only use it to kill more of the pigeons, and they never did anything to hurt you!”    
  
“I don’t care! They’re just stupid birds, now GIVE IT TO ME!”   
  
Young Tom Riddle’s dark eyes narrowed violently as he glared at the other boy, arm outstretched, palm upward as he waited for Robert to comply with his demand. Robert stuck out his tongue at Tom and put the wooden slingshot into the back pocket of his worn out trousers. This was too much for Tom. Heat boiled up in his chest as he took a step toward Robert, staring him straight in the eyes. “DO AS I SAY.”   
  
Robert Crandall’s face became frightened as he looked at the other boy. He didn’t know why, but he knew that Tom was right. He would be sorry if he made Tom angry. Tom had already destroyed Susan Locker’s doll carriage and caused Mrs. Cole to cry last week. Something just wasn’t safe about Tom Riddle. All the children knew it, but none of them were sure just what it was that made him so… scary. He was some kind of freak, and it was best not to make him mad.    
  
The slingshot dropped to the ground as Robert raced for the back door of the orphanage, his face as pale as bed sheets. Tom walked slowly to the spot where the slingshot lay, picked it up and looked at it. Then he sneered at it in his hand, and threw it with all his might across the yard, where it clattered against a tree and broke into two pieces. He never really like that stupid thing anyway. 


	6. July 17, 1936

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, the boy with no friends, finds a confidant of a reptilian variety.

Every summer when the weather was nice, Mrs. Cole and the others would take the children out to the beach. Fresh air and a little exploring was good for growing kids, you see. They always enjoyed playing in the sand and going on hikes by the shore.    
  
Well, Tom Riddle didn’t care for hikes or searching for shells or catching fish in the shallow tide pools. All of that was foolish to him, and he had never really cared for these pointless trips to the beach. This year would be a little different, however. He had a plan. The previous year, he had found a cave hidden by the rocks near the shore some three miles from the place where most of the children played. It had taken him some time to find a way to get inside, but if the tide was down like it was that day, it would be a relatively easy swim to the entrance.    
  
“Do you want to see something secret?”    
  
The excitement in Tom’s eyes sort of scared Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop. He could see it on their faces. But they were two of the kids Tom knew would be too prideful to chicken out if he challenged them. Hiking and fishing might not have been his favorite pastimes, but Tom did love to play games. This would be a game to remember forever, and he knew it.    
  
“Follow me.” He started walking off down the shore and noticed they were still rooted to the spot, just over the hill where Mrs. Cole and the others couldn’t see them. Tom turned back and frowned. “What are you doing? I said follow me. Unless you’re too afraid.” The other kids shook their heads. Perfect. “Come on. NOW.” Tom led them up the shore, where soon the dull grey landscape began to climb steadily and the steely blue waters crashed onto the rocks below the cliffs. The children walked for almost an hour, until they had descended back to the sandy beach and Tom stopped abruptly.    
  
He pointed at a rock out in the water. “See there? We have to swim to that rock, then we’ll be able to see the cave, and we’ll swim there next. You can swim, can’t you?” His dark gaze held theirs as if to mock them for even considered telling him they were unable to swim. “Good. Come on then. Quickly.”    
  
The waves jostled them about, but somehow they made it without drowning. Tom was the first to emerge onto the rocks inside the cave’s mouth, of course, and he waited impatiently for the others to catch up. Weak little Amy was coughing and shivering as Dennis helped her out of the water. “Tom, I don’t see anything in here worth taking a second look at. You didn’t drag us all the way here just for some stupid cave, did you?”    
  
Tom’s returned glare was enough of an answer to shut Dennis up. The pale light that found its way inside the cave made his eyes gleam like those of a snake or something as he pushed past Dennis and climbed farther up the rocks. “Stop that whimpering, Benson,” he practically snarled at the girl. “Follow me.” They were nearly there. An opening at the top of this cave led into another chamber, Tom knew. And there it was that he would find what he’d been searching for, or rather they would find him. The other children clamored up the rocks in his wake.    
  
The snakes had been there for years, having once slithered down from tunnels through the ceilings and found a small mountain of bodies in the cold, wet cave which had been left by soldiers to rot in the dark. The snakes had called their friends to the feast, and soon built a colony in the sea-cave, where some of them still dwelt today amongst the bones. Other snakes came and went, bringing the corpses of dead animals and the occasional human along with them so that they could all feed, but still it wasn’t the same as feasting on live flesh. This was the way a snake was meant to survive, after all. But many of the more ancient ones in the cave were unable to leave now, and had to have their food brought in by the others.    
  
Tom had known the snakes were special before they had spoken to him. Some of them were of a great ancient race with was supposed to be very powerful, and the elder snakes told tales about the great snake kings of old who could kill a human just by looking at him. Tom didn’t really believe in all that nonsense, but the snakes actually seemed to enjoy telling him about it and he had even befriended them- or at least convinced them not to eat him if he promised to bring back live human flesh for them someday. Tom was a boy of his word, after all, and so today was the day he would repay his debt to the serpents. Although Dennis and Amy probably would not go far enough down to be taken by the snakes, Tom would still enjoy the thrill of seeing the fear on their faces when they caught sight of his big “secret.”    
  
“Ssssshhhheeeeeesshhhhaaaaaa,” Tom hissed to a small snake who slithered between his ankles and through a crack in the wall. The snake his back at him, and he heard many voices responding from the other chamber. It seemed the great serpents were anxious already, for some humans had wandered into their midst yesterday and were still being ah… disposed of.    
  
Tom scooped up a serpent and held it as it wound about his arm when he stopped in the chamber, barely able to see from the teeny bit of light that filtered through some cracks in the walls. What he did see was a magnificent sight. Mountains of snakes slithered and crawled over one another on the floor, some in the water and others on the rocks, all hissing and speaking in excited tones about the dessert that was to follow yesterday’s small feast. Tom Riddle was back, and he had kept his word. In the middle of the largest mound of reptiles, the decomposing body of a man lay as they nipped and tore bits of flesh from it, doing their best to make this meal last as long as possible, because there was no telling when the next one would come. The dead man’s head lolled about, half detached from the neck with gaping black holes where his eyes used to be. One of the serpents protruded from the man's mouth, his jaw having been broken and disfigured. Tom was fascinated and sickened by the sight, be he did not move.    
  
Then a shrill scream pierced the cool, moist air as Amy and Dennis appeared over the rocks behind Tom. Amy was so shocked by the sight she had seen that she fainted and tumbled forward down the rocks, where she was barely caught by Dennis, who grabbed her arm which in turn let out a loud “pop” as the bones broke. Tom watched with amusement while the snakes began to pool below the rocks, waiting for the children to fall into their midst. Others began to slither up towards the humans, where Dennis was struggling horribly to half-carry, half-drag Amy out of the cave.    
  
Tom pushed past his fellow children and fled. He knew that when the snakes reached the top of the rocks, they would not be so kind to him as they had been before. Three children were better than two, and Amy was small anyway. Not to mention he didn’t want to be left back there if Dennis and Amy managed to escape. Tom dove into the water and swam from the cave, peeking over his shoulder as he neared the rock to see that the other children were in fact behind him. Dennis was helping the girl swim with her broken arm, and nearly drowning them both in the process. Amy was still shrieking uncontrollably and crying from the pain and fear.    
  
Over and hour later, Tom ran up to Mrs. Cole, who had been searching high and low for the missing children. She grabbed him by the shoulders and frowned at him sternly. “Tom Riddle, where on earth have you been?!” Tom ripped himself away from her grasp, but didn’t bother expressing his distaste at her being so near to him. He just pretended to be scared and cold, and pointed back the way he had come.    
  
“It’s Dennis and Amy, Mrs. Cole,” he said in his most innocently frightened voice. “I don’t know what happened, but you’d better come quickly. Follow me!”


	7. August 12, 1937

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange "professor" arrives at the orphanage to tell Tom something he's known deep down all along, thank-you-very-much.

A strange man in a purple suit and tie was knocking on the door of the orphanage, and Mrs. Cole peered out the window at him before letting him in. Tom watched out the second-story window as the man entered the building. Did he know how completely ridiculous he looked? Like a circus clown, or just a crazy person. His dark brown eyes narrowed as he crossed his bedroom and cracked the door open. Not many of the kids here had their own bedrooms, but no one wanted to share a room with Tom, so he got one. He didn’t mind. He liked being alone and having space all to himself. He could do whatever he wanted in there and no one would bother him.    
  
Tom poked his face through the small opening in the doorway and strained his ears to hear what was going on at the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Cole invited the goofy-looking man into her office, and Tom could barely make out a few words of what they said. He heard his name, though, and that was enough for him. He slammed the door and went over to his bed, sitting down on the scratchy blankets as he seethed. How dare that vile woman call someone here to take him away? That was obviously what the man was doing here. He wasn’t the first stranger to come and speak to Tom lately, and the boy had known it was only a matter of time before the visitors’ intentions became more sinister than simply wanting to “talk.”   
  
He wasn’t crazy. Tom knew he wasn’t crazy, because he was smarter than all the other kids and Mrs. Cole put together. It wasn’t his fault he was stuck in this shithole with all these idiots who didn’t understand him. He was special, but of course they couldn’t see that. They were just scared of him , and thought he was a crazy little freak, and so Mrs. Cole kept bringing in these psychiatrists and stuff to talk with him. This one was the final straw, though. Tom would make sure of that. After today, Mrs. Cole would know better than to try and have him taken away. He would punish her, and then leave himself. Living on the streets was better than this place anyway.    
  
There was a knock on his door, and Tom turned his head slowly to stare in that direction. He didn’t move even when the door opened and the freakishly fashion-challenged man walked inside. Mrs. Cole peered over his purple striped shoulder at Tom, and he glared at her. Then the man shut the door, and Tom was forced to look up at him.    
  
“Hello, Tom.”    
  
“You’re not taking me anywhere!” Tom retorted immediately, staring into the man’s watery blue eyes. He was old. Much older than Tom had realized when he had spied on him out the window.    
  
The man seemed to ignore this outburst and kept his steady gaze on Tom. “I’m Professor Albus Dumbledore,” he said calmly.    
  
“Professor? Is that like Doctor?” Tom asked, sneering. He jerked his head towards the door. “She wants to have me carried off. She thinks I’m mad. But I’m not.”   
  
Albus Dumbledore looked at Tom for a long moment, and the boy stared back, his dark eyes cold and calculating. He was sizing Dumbledore up and trying to find out exactly what was going on here. The Professor shook his head, and peered over his half-moon spectacles at Tom.    
  
“I’m not a doctor, Tom, I’m a teacher. And I’m here to offer you a place at my school.”    
  
“You can’t fool me. You mean a school for mad people, don’t you? Don’t you? TELL THE TRUTH.”    
  
“No, Tom. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”    
  
Tom’s eyes widened as he searched the man’s face for any hint of a lie. He couldn’t believe something like this, and yet it made sense. All the things he could do. All the special… abilities he had discovered he possessed over the years and learned to control in order to get back at those who needed to be punished. Still, he couldn’t say anything about that. Not yet. This man could still be lying, trying to get him to say something crazy so he could cart him off to an institution somewhere.    
  
“Prove it.”    
  
Dumbledore tilted his head curiously, looking at Tom as though something were quite amusing about him. Then the old man glanced back at Tom’s old wooden wardrobe in the corner, and it promptly burst into flames.    
  
“NO!” Tom jumped up and ran to the wardrobe. What was happening? What was this loony old man thinking?! All of his most prized possessions were in that wardrobe, and it’s not as though he had much to begin with! Tom sucked in a breath and was prepared to reach into the flaming cabinet to at least pull out the tin box with his greatest treasures. Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, the fire disappeared.    
  
Tom turned to stare at Dumbledore, his eyes wide and his breath slowing down. “How did you do that?”    
  
“I’m a wizard, Tom. Just like you.”   
  
“So, it’s magic then? What I can do?”   
  
“What exactly is it you can do, Tom?” The wizened old man looked suddenly grave.   
  
“Lots of things. I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want.” Tom’s eyes sparkled as he revealed his strange abilities to this man, whom he wanted to tell despite his suspicions. He wanted to impress Dumbledore. Finally someone would see just how special he was. He was about to ask another question when a noise from the corner distracted him. Something inside his wardrobe seemed to be crashing around inside.   
  
“Is there something in there which shouldn’t be, Tom?” Dumbledore looked at him, almost like he knew the truth being asking the question.    
  
Tom slowly walked over to the wardrobe, and opened it up, half afraid that something would come flying out at him, or that the wooden chest would suddenly burst into flames again and swallow him up forever. But it didn’t. Inside was the little in box in which he had kept all his most prized artifacts over the years. His  _ trophies _ , as he liked to think of them. They were all things he’d stolen from others who had taunted him or found in special places. He dumped the contents of the box onto his bed, where Dumbledore examined them and then looked back up at the boy.    
  
“Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Tom,” he said. “If you wish to attend Hogwarts, you must learn to follow the rules.”   
  
“Okay,” Tom said begrudgingly. He was sure there would be around the rules at this Hogwarts place, though. There were always ways around the rules.   
  
“While we’re discussing rules, it will be proper to note that you should address me as ‘sir’ or ‘Professor’ while at Hogwarts,” the old man’s eyes still seemed to be searching Tom, and the boy didn’t like it. He felt exposed, like Dumbledore could see through to his very soul. But he nodded. “Well then,” Dumbledore continued, much more cheerily than before. He handed Tom an envelope. “There is your ticket and list of things you will need for school, and-“    
  
Tom broke in. “But, I haven’t any money… _ sir. _ ” He stared up at Dumbledore, eyes hardened as he realized that this was actually too good to be true. He would never be able to afford to go to a school for magic. Just glancing down the list he realized that things would be quite expensive.    
  
“No need to worry, Tom,” Dumbledore reassured him. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for students in need of assistance.” Tom breathed a sigh of relief as Dumbledore stood up to leave. “I will see you on September the first, then Tom.” He smiled. “Oh, and do return those before you leave for school, won’t you?” He gestured to the small pile of knick knacks on Tom’s bed, which the boy glanced at before looking back up at the old man.    
  
“Yes,  _ Professor _ .”


	8. December 14, 1937

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over a particularly enlightening Christmas break, Tom Riddle learns about his heritage.

_ ”Hey Tom, have a Happy Christmas!” _   
_ ”Bye, Tom! Have a good break.” _   
_ ”Don’t forget to send me a Christmas present, Riddle! _   
  
Christmas presents? Ha. Was that some kind of joke? It wasn’t funny. You’ll be getting it for that one, Mulder.   
  
Tom half-heartedly waved ‘bye to a few of his so-called friends as he lounged on one of the black leather sofas in the Slytherin common room. He paged through  _ The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 _ and yawned. Nothing in that book was very interesting. Why would he ever need to know how to turn a match into a needle? He wasn’t planning on sewing his own sweaters anytime soon, and if he needed to he could just charm the needles to knit for him. No, he had bigger things to worry about than the entry level magical coursework. He didn’t need to study that stuff. It came naturally to him. Still, Tom spent more time in the library these days than half the kids in Ravenclaw. But he was searching for something of personal, not academic interest.   
  
He waited until nearly all the students who were going home for the holidays had left, and the few who were to remain at Hogwarts with Tom were off doing their own things. Then he quietly slipped off the sofa and left the common room, roaming the corridors until he reached the library, and slipped inside. It was deathly quiet. That was good. He wouldn’t be disturbed while he rifled through important information. Maybe he could actually get something done.    
  
No, not that moldy old book. And he’d looked through all these before, too. This was getting old. He couldn’t keep looking through the books in this stupid library. Hogwarts really needed do something about its reading selection. Riddle, Riddle… Where are you? Hmph. Nothing. There was never anything about his father’s family in these books. Perhaps the Riddles were from another country, or they were in hiding from the government for some secret special reason? Oh well. It was time to start searching elsewhere for mention of his family. Since Tom Riddle didn’t seem to be anywhere in these books, he would just have to go with the next best thing. Marvolo… Ugh. His middle name was obnoxious to say the least. Who had a name like Marvolo? His grandfather couldn’t have been a great wizard, because his mother certainly had been a very poor witch, but Tom was running out of options here.    
  
Marvolo, Marvolo… Where are you?    
  
After hours pouring over books, charming the librarian to let him stay after hours, and venturing through the restricted section, Tom finally found it. Some man named Marvolo Gaunt was mentioned in a wizarding genealogy book. He was from a long line of pure-bloods. That made sense, Tom thought. After all, he was in Slytherin. It looked like the Gaunts were an old family, and dying out. Marvolo was the final name on the faint, thin piece of parchment that served as a family tree in the book. Tom traced them back through a few different books. There were several Marvolos in the family. What a stupid name… And then in another volume there was mention of a family called the Peverells and…    
  
No. Tom couldn’t believe his eyes. He rubbed them hard, wiping away any hint of tiredness he’d gained while sitting in the dark library. He moved his lamp closer to the very large, leather-bound and sort of musty book and leaned closer to the page.    
  
_ Salazar Slytherin. _


	9. October 31, 1939

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pipes

_ Halloween. What a childish holiday, even amongst the wizarding community. Did fireworks and feasts really help open the portal between the living world and the world beyond? Of course not. That was ridiculous. Everyone knows that the Dead can never come back. _   
  
But if one could prevent oneself from dying, what then?    
  
The Hogwarts Halloween feast was not something to be missed by anyone. It was probably the most fun of all feasts at the school, though Tom preferred Christmas simply because he was partial to the food and the small crowd over the Holidays. This was why he opted out of the Halloween feast, and instead took a walk down by the lake to contemplate a few things that had been on his mind lately. Actually they’d been on his mind for over a year now.    
  
After all, when you’re the Heir of Slytherin, the one prophesied to return and reopen his fabled Chamber of Secrets to set loose some horrid monster and rid Hogwarts of all its filth, it took a toll on your concentration. Tom had read every single line of text concerning the Chamber of Secrets, and Slytherin and the other Founders of Hogwarts. He thought he was even getting close to finding the Chamber. He certainly knew that the monster was actually a Basilisk, a gigantic and ancient serpent which could kill humans simply by gazing upon them. Almost every night Tom dreamed about what it would be like to control such a creature, to have such power over all the others in the school. It wouldn’t be long. The Heir would soon arise.    
  
He flicked his wand boredly as he stared out at the Black Lake, where the moonlight rippled across the surface and the Giant Squid’s tentacles splashed around as he fed on fish and the rogue Grindylow or two. A stone near Tom’s feet flew into the air and skipped across the surface of the water nearly twenty times before sinking into the depths, never to surface again. Tom sighed, feeling restless as he wandered near the lake’s edge, trying to shut out the noise that was issuing from the Great Hall up above. He wandered closer to the lowest levels of Hogwarts Castle, where the lake actually met the castle walls and there was a dock for the tiny boats that carried First Years to Hogwarts every September.    
  
Tom plopped down on the stone pier, staring blanking into the murky black water and getting lost in his thoughts for about the billion and seventh time. He twirled his wand in his fingers, pausing to point it at a beetle that wandered too close and was immediately stunned by Tom, who then picked it up by one spindly little leg and examined it closely. By the enchanted torchlight flickering against the castle walls, Tom could see all the colors in the insect’s crusty shell. Purples, greens, yellows and iridescent whites shone across the smooth black surface of the bug, while its round black eyes stared unseeing into some abyss. It was such a tiny and insignificant little creature, Tom thought. Why bother even having such things on earth? They did absolutely no good, really.    
  
He flicked the bug into the water, where it sank and drowned, releasing some miniscule little bubbles as it did so. Tom smirked and stood up again, and was just about to walk off when he noticed something. More bubbles, a little larger this time, glooping out from the metal grate that let water flow somewhere beneath the walls of the castle. He didn’t know where the tunnel went, but figured the school must have a passage of waterways under it, probably connecting to the toilets and everything at some point. But it wasn’t the waste disposal system that concerned him.    
  
Those pipes had to lead somewhere, and where better for a giant serpentine monster to dwell undetected than underneath the castle, in the dark and cool and wet places… It probably even caused drainage problems sometimes, were it to pass through some of the larger pipes. The pipes. It all made sense, clicked in his mind and he began to turn over possibility after possibility. It was only a matter of time before he found the right one. 


	10. January 19, 1944

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his studies, Tom comes across something rather odd about a rare piece of magic.

Tom Riddle left Professor Slughorn’s office and stalked down the dark corridors, headed for the Slytherin common room. He spotted one of his classmate up ahead in the hallway and ducked into a secret passage to avoid him. He couldn’t talk to anyone right now. He needed to think. He twirled the black-stoned ring about his finger and stopped on the dark staircase to sit down and ponder the latest update on his most secret piece of knowledge. His Horcruxes. Tom stared into the shining opal of the ring upon his right hand. The symbol carved upon it still held no meaning to him, but the ring itself meant more now to him, to Lord Voldemort, than anything ever had before. He knew it was dangerous to keep it on his person, especially with people like Dumbledore hounding him constantly about his pastimes. But he had yet to have the chance to go back and hide it safely. Besides, he liked having the reminder of the death of his filthy Muggle father right there in front of him. The other Horcrux was hidden away, safe in the home of a loyal follower who dared not disobey his Dark Lord’s orders.   
  
So, Tom had found out little more about what would happen to one who made multiple Horcruxes, though from Slughorn’s description it seemed possible to survive the process. Well, obviously it was possible, as he had already created two. It was dangerous, sure. But Lord Voldemort wasn’t afraid. He would do what was necessary to preserve himself. He would be more powerful than any other being in the world. Practically indestructible. After all, seven was the most powerfully magic number, so splitting his soul seven ways would be the most powerful way to achieve his goal.    
  
After all, he was Lord Voldemort. He was the most powerful Dark wizard ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts. He was the Heir of Slytherin himself, the master of the Basilisk and the eradicator of unworthy Mudbloods. Soon he would be free from Hogwarts and he would exact the remainder of his plans to rule the wizarding world.    
  
His plans to become immortal would take more time, but it could be done. He had time to think about this, though. It would take years to seek out items of worthy value in which to conceal a piece of his soul. It would take time, but he could do it, and he would do it. Tom grinned to himself as he stood up again, balling his right hand into a fist so as to feel the cool metal of the ring against his skin. “Lumos,” he muttered, and continued down the stairs. 


	11. July 10, 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night that changed everything.

_ No time to think about this one, it’s too late for that. He had to get rid of it before Borgin found him out. _   
  
Although the locket was rightfully his, Tom knew that Borgin would never see it that way, and he really couldn’t risk losing his contact with Borgin & Burke; keeping up with the items they received was a good chance he had to find more items of value for his plans. He hurried through the streets of London, glancing back once to make sure he wasn’t being followed or seen, then turned on the spot and apparated to a familiar street corner. Right on the other side of the intersection stood there, staring darkly out at the orphanage where had spent the majority of his childhood. Those people had no idea what Tom Riddle was up to now, and he loved the thought that he would never have to set foot in that place again after tonight.    
  
Tom fingered the golden chain in his pocket, and reached farther, as if to make sure the rest of the locket was still attached. He really shouldn’t be so careless as to let Borgin see him eyeing a piece like that just before it goes missing. But he couldn’t resist it. It was the perfect addition to his collection. Tom moved forward from the shadows of the alley, walking swiftly but ominously towards the orphanage. No doubt dear old Mrs. Cole would be asleep in her bed, unknowing that her life was about to end. He gripped his wand tighter in his hand and breathed.    
  
“IT’S YOU, ISN’T IT? YOU’RE ONE OF THEM! YOU’VE COME FOR ME AT LAST HAVE YOU?!”    
  
Tom balked and turned fiercely as the voice behind him bellowed. A grizzled old man wearing rags stared at Tom with a crazed look in his eye. The old tramp was obviously mad, but he was staring with fear at Tom’s wand and he was making such a noise that he was sure to wake up the entire block. Tom glanced quickly back at the orphanage, and decided what the hell, it really would not make that much difference. This man could ruin him if he said anything to anyone. He needed to die anyway.    
  
_ ”AVADA KEDAVRA.” _   
  
The flash of green lit Lord Voldemort’s dark eyes as he watched the old Muggle tramp fall limply to the pavement, the whites of his eyes staring blankly at the black sky. The next steps were more complicated, and Tom needed to move the body. As he grabbed the corpse by the shoulder and turned to apparate out of there, he decided it was better this way. Now that Muggle-loving Dumbledore would not be able to tie him to this. It would buy him more time to seek out other special items he needed…   
  
The swirling of a cloak was the first thing to be seen as Lord Voldemort and his latest victim apparated directly into the mouth of the old cave he’d found as a child. He didn’t have time to take the body any further. The rest of the creation process was complicated, and had to be done quickly before all essence of life left the old man. Ugh, a filthy Muggle of no consequence was not his first choice when making his Horcruxes, but this would have to do.    
  
It was a painful process, and even Lord Voldemort found himself on the floor of the cave, water lapping at his feet as he groaned, feeling his soul ripping apart and thinking his entire body might explode at any moment. Then, it was over. He woke up sweaty and weak, a cut on his forehead where he fell on the rocks. The corpse of the old Muggle lay beside him, it’s bloodshot eyes drilling into Voldemort’s. The locket was still clenched in his fist, and he sat up to examine it. Still feeling weak, Voldemort stood up, leaning against the rocky walls for a long moment. He vomited onto the slimy floor of the cave and did his best just to breath. How long had it been since he performed the spell? Hours?    
  
Whispers from above reached his ears, and Voldemort looked up, his face more pale than usual and still glistened with a thick sheen of freezing sweat. They were still here. That was good and bad. He called out to them, and several of the serpents came to him, whispering welcomes that he knew would wear out quickly if he found no way to appease them. He gave them the body of the Muggle, and they were grateful for a while. But they wanted more. Their numbers had dwindled over the years, and they got little fresh meat these days. He was too good to pass up.    
  
But one of the snakes argued against his death. She wasn’t an elder, but she was wise and from an ancient ‘royal’ line. She spoke out for him and it distracted the others long enough for Voldemort to form a plan. It was a horrible deed, but it had to be done. He raised his wand, and jets of enchanted fire shot about the cave. The snakes screeched and writhed as their bodies became charred and wrinkled, filling the cave with the smell of burning meat and toxic fumes. When it was all over, only one of the creatures remained. The one who had wanted to spare him. Nagini.    
  
The serpent was grateful, and made a vow to serve Lord Voldemort and be loyal to him alone for the rest of her life. She snacked in the corner on the body of the Muggle while Voldemort spent hours placing protective enchantments and obstacles in the way of the cave’s entrance and the locket Horcrux. Even the bones and decomposed bodies of dead humans, victims of the serpents long since rotted beneath the black waters of the underground lake, played their part. Lord Voldemort was one step closer to immortality. 


	12. August 23, 1945

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle is gone.

Upon his return from a month-long trip to the forests of Albania, the young Lord Voldemort arrived in London still basking in the glory of his Hogwarts years. He was offered several jobs at the Ministry of Magic, but to the shock of many he turned them down, and having been rejected months earlier in his request for a job at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle took the humble job as a messenger and collector for Borgin & Burke’s in Knockturn Alley. If he couldn’t work at Hogwarts, where he would be able to seek out the school’s many unrevealed secrets and influence students there to follow him, he decided his time would be best spent working on the only plan he had for the moment.    
  
He had created three Horcruxes already, the most recent being the Diadem of Ravenclaw, the reason for his trip to the far reaches of Albania. This particular piece was hidden away in a vault in Gringotts until he could find a more suitable hiding place for it. Hogwarts would be the key to that, when he returned there once more. But Headmaster Dippet had already explained that Tom was too long to teach there, and bade he come back in a few years, which Voldemort fully intended to do.    
  
In the years which followed, he succeeded through his job at Borgin & Burke’s in finding one more addition to his Horcrux collection, a golden cup once owned by Helga Hufflepuff. It plagued him afterwards that he had something from three of the four Hogwarts Founders, and he made it a plan to procure the sword of Godric Gryffindor which he had once seen hanging in the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. But things had changed. He couldn’t go back yet. Professor Dippet was no longer in charge, and the new Headmaster was well… not Tom Riddle’s biggest fan.    
  
Tom spent the following years traveling the globe, searching for more artifacts of ancient magical power and finding a few, but none worthy enough in his opinion to contain a Horcrux. He had become greedy, which was bad and he knew it, but the more he thought about it, the more he felt that Gryffindor’s sword was the right choice. Meanwhile he delved deeper into the Dark Arts, gaining followers wherever he went and developing many new terrible pieces of magic that would ultimately help on his quest to become the supreme wizard. He spent a considerable amount of time in Bulgaria, seeking out a rebel faction there which seemed to despise Muggles as much as he did, and he gained their trust and admiration. He also sought out giants and other dark creatures to join him, and many of them did, though they wished to remain in the shadows for the most part. Weak, but an asset to The Dark Lord nonetheless.    
  
Upon his return to England, all traces of Tom Riddle had disappeared and Lord Voldemort’s name was beginning to be whispered in the streets and shops. He slipped through the shadows for the most part, but had one final mission before he could truly become the terror of the wizarding world. 


	13. May 30, 1968

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You Know Who makes a trip back to Hogwarts with a request for Professor Dumbledore—and an ulterior motive.

_ ”What can I do for you, Tom?” _   
  
Albus Dumbledore was looking older than ever, and Lord Voldemort wanted to sneer at the ancient crackpot, but forced himself to maintain a polite if not a little strained demeanor.    
  
“I’d like to ask you to consider hiring me as a professor, Sir. I heard there was an opening for Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He stared intently at Dumbledore, who merely smiled pleasantly throughout his request. Voldemort could see the wheels turning in the old man’s mind, though, and he knew that his attempt was useless. His eyes wandered past Dumbledore’s elbow once to the ruby-encrusted sword held in a glass case behind the Headmaster’s desk. A hungry desire rose up in his chest, but he was unable to satisfy it at the moment.    
  
“I believe you already know my answer, Tom.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes seemed to mock him silently.    
  
He grimaced. “They do not call me ‘Tom’ anymore,” he spat back, not caring what the old dinosaur said or thought anymore. He had already stowed his Horcrux at the castle and had no further business there today. “These days, I’m known as—“   
  
“Oh, I’m quite aware what you’re known as,” Dumbledore interrupted, flaring up Voldemort’s temper even more. He felt his ears burn as he gripped his wand beneath the table, but knew it was ridiculous to attack Albus Dumbledore right in his own office in the middle of Hogwarts Castle. No, the old man’s fate would be met some other time, another day. Until then, Lord Voldemort would be looking forward to it. “But I beg you, be wary, Tom. The path you follow is fraught with peril.”    
  
Voldemort wanted to laugh. He blinked at Dumbledore, keeping his expression totally blank as he stood up. The man was truly hilarious sometimes. Fraught with peril, indeed! Well, of course it was. Those were the sacrifices one had to make to gain power. Lord Voldemort, of all people, knew the dangers of his actions. Unlike his predecessors in Dark magic however, he was not too weak or afraid to go the distance. As he exited the office, he cast one more look at Dumbledore, a hint of a smirk playing across his pale lips.    
  
“Thank you,  _ Professor _ .”

After all, there is no good and evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.


End file.
